A strange Dream is a Tautology and I Breath Water
I'm not waking up anymore. My dreams won't stop. Madame Night extends her fingers into my breakfast soup, juices or teas, and sucks them with her big mouth in front of my sleepy eyes. There's nothing I can do but watch her pointing at my inward, speechless as she caresses my tongue in circular loops. "Tell yourself the story again", she says, even though I haven't caught my breath or figured if it's Monday or Saturday yet. "I can't speak with you inside my mouth" I retort. Pause. She whispers: "Of course you can, turn up the low frequency amp and talk back to yourself. I don't need to hear you, I just watched you sleep." Barely breathing through my congested nostrils and my morning asthma, I oblige. I flip my third eye and re-run the run. The three acts, again. I derail for a bit, leaning on the left side of my bed-boat, to reach the morning sky, searching for air. Well, all I see is a beautiful cenotes, colored in deep green and blue tones, inhabited by a family of merpeople looking at me, through the most transparent liquid. What is that water? Because around it, on the road above from where I'm standing, everything is a grey/beige dryness, cracked stones and sticks of antique Bruxelles in ruins. Old Europe in future decay? My subconscious designing a neo-antique future, like they do in those sci-fi post-apocalyptic movies. What a strange dream... Splash! I'm inward again. My bedroom window is pushing me into the wet hole like a teen friend at the public pool. "No pushing!" Says the guard. Which guard? Too late, I like the jump anyway.